Till The End of The Line
by whysosiriusumbridge
Summary: It had been a hard time for the Potters everywhere when he had voiced his opinion for helping the Muggles in the World War l. He suspected this was one of the reasons that the Minister had turned to his father for help, he was all for this policy of helping the muggles. It wasn't like he was against it, he just didn't exactly get why they had to choose him.
1. November, 1943

_**November, 1943 (Front Lines)**_

 _'400 PRISONERS LIBERATED_ ' – A newspaper on the table showed the heading in bold font, illuminated by the light of the lamp that covered the second half of the report. A man was sleeping on the bed near the table, his long lashes touching his cheeks as he snored softly, one arm hanging over the side.

He gave a slight twitch, and something heavy flew through the air right at his face.

'Argh! Wha- What happened – what's-' He stammered, sitting up quickly, blinking rapidly, whipping his head around to see where it had come from. He looked down on his bed – it was an empty duffel bag.

On the other side of the room, he saw his best friend, the Sergeant Barnes, hunched over himself, laughing his _ass off_. Annoyed, Steve threw the duffel bag back at him, but of course Bucky caught it annoyingly fast – he had always had good reflexes.

'Was that really necessary?' Steve asked, rubbing his eyes with one hand and picking up the newspaper with the other.

'Yeah you scream like a little girl – and there's nothing in there. They're just going mad after your involvement. Nothing else.' Bucky said, indicating the newspaper while stuffing something into his bag.

'Jerk.' Steve muttered, but nodded anyway, before his eyes fell on what Bucky was doing.

'New orders came in?' He asked hesitantly, noting the dark circles under Bucky's eyes, and the little twitch he gave while moving his right shoulder every time.

'Yes – you are supposed to report at the office at 7, and I have to go through a medical exam before we're assigned anywhere else.'

'They're pulling us back?' Steve frowned, not liking the flat tone Bucky was talking in, especially about the medical exam. He knew Buck didn't like getting fussed over, especially now that he had suffered God-knows-what at the hands of Hydra. He had still refused to talk about it at all. It bothered Steve more than he liked to admit.

'Yes, just the 107th. Most of us who came back yesterday.' Bucky said uncomfortably. Steve frowned worriedly – what the hell had happened there? Why was Bucky refusing to talk to him about it? And the way he was avoiding his eyes and refusing to look in his general direction was making Steve angry and scared in equal measures.

'Right. Right… Buck – what hap-?'

'Stop.' Bucky cut him off immediately, stilling his hands. Steve gulped as he noticed how Bucky's jaw had tightened immediately and he no longer looked calm. It was worrying Steve to hell and back – Bucky had never had to hide anything from him. _Anything_.

But as he watched his best friend's hands tremble slightly, and his breathing hitch, he decided something. He couldn't push Bucky about this – it was too sensitive a topic. Steve had never had to push Bucky into talking – he pretty much always did it himself. Actually, _he_ was the one who Bucky had to normally coerce into talking openly.

Even so, it was no less worrying when they spent the next five minutes in silence, Bucky shifting to sit on his camp bed and taking deep breaths. Calming breaths. It was that, if nothing else that made him realize that it was probably something worse than he could have imagined. It opened up a pit of fathomless worry in his stomach – he was almost on the verge of panicking.

After a few minutes of watching him, Steve poured a glass of water and handed it to Bucky, putting an arm around his shoulder. It was still slightly shaking. He gripped harder. They had never been much touchy feely with each other, but Bucky had given him lots of hugs when the situation warranted, so Steve didn't feel even a little bit awkward holding Buck to his side. Squishing him as hard as he could, comfortingly.

'I won't ask you again, I won't push you, Buck – you know me. But I'm here. Whenever you feel like talking – I'll be here. All you have to do is say the words. Alright?'

He hoped he wasn't making a mistake when he next said – 'Y'know what? You can skip physical if you want to – only for today. I'll talk to the doctor, and you'll have to stay here another day, but no needles for today. How's that sound?'

'About time you returned some favors.' Bucky said weakly, even though his voice shook slightly. Steve knew he was grateful – he just wouldn't say it. Bucky tapped his hand with his lightly – _'thanks for that'_ – before giving him a slightly wobbly smile.

'And I'm not going to go home anyway. There's nothing there for me anymore. The punk I need a holiday to see is already stuck by my side here.' Bucky said again, with a little more tease to his voice, that gets Steve chuckling. _That sounds better._

Steve started to move away to start packing his stuff, while Bucky sipped some water in thought. It was about two minutes later that he talked again.

'I might go to see Mom if the physical says I need rest. Is that okay with you?' He asked, and Steve only picked up a slight hesitance in his tone – Bucky was trying to be nonchalant about it, but Steve knew him too well.

It threw him off for a second – Bucky had never wanted a break ever. Even in his letters to him and his Mom, he was almost always insistent to stay on the lines, no matter if he got shot or anything like it. Steve tried not to think on it anyway – his Mom must think he was dead or something so it makes sense to see her anyway. He was just over thinking it. Yeah.

'Yeah, of course. What – you think I can't handle being Captain America for a day without my sidekick?' Steve said jokingly, and Bucky snorted – 'I am _not_ your sidekick.'

'You sure about that, Buck? I sort of am the hero, y'know.' Steve continued, trying to keep Bucky busy so that he was distracted from whatever was going on inside his head.

It worked for the most part – Bucky kept laughing and indulging him in short banter, asking about Peggy – _'Who was that brunette you were flirting with?'_ – before Steve blushed, _hard_ , and Bucky looked like he would piss his pants laughing.

They packed up their things and headed out together eventually and it was the first time Steve was _finally_ in the army – by Bucky's side, just like he had always dreamt.


	2. July, 1941

**_July, 1941_**

Fleamont Potter, known to most as 'Monty' – _because honestly, who would introduce themselves with that name?_ – was walking through a mostly empty corridor on Level 1. It had surprised him greatly when his father, Henry, had owled to meet him. It wasn't like they no longer talked or anything – he was after all, the heir to a part of the Potter estate so they often still met up for Gringotts business. He just hadn't expected his father to be this cozy with him when the last time they'd talked, he had kicked him out after Monty had declared that he wanted to practice and experiment with potions for a while longer before getting a job.

That had made him realize that he had already been relying on his father's hospitality for far too long – it had been two years since he had graduated from Hogwarts after all. So anyway, his father had kicked him out but Monty had apologized eventually, even though it was on a letter and not face to face. Even so, this Friday, he was rather nervous to see his father, not knowing that the conversation was going to be the end of his life as he had been living it. Then knew why his father was so cozy with him – it was practically throwing him to the wolves if they went on with this plan of theirs.

So now there he was, standing outside the office of the Minister of Magic – Leonard Spencer-Moon. The man was a highly respected official, and Monty was sure he would be shaking if his father hadn't already told him what the meeting was about. Knowing the reason still didn't keep him from rubbing his fingers distractedly – a nervous habit.

Plucking up some deeply buried courage, he raised a hand and knocked thrice on the Minister's door. A short _'Come in'_ was heard, and he took a deep breath, before opening the door and stepping inside.

He didn't know what he had expected, to be entirely honest, but it surely wasn't this. The room was just a larger version of a general office, a desk and chair on one side and a plush sofa and two armchairs on the other end. He quickly took in the room at a glance, not wanting to seem to star struck – mahogany furniture, deep scarlet drapes covering the windows and blue stone walls, along with purple furniture. It looked like a normal study, except it was a bit larger and _fancy_.

He quickly made his way over to the minister – a short, but lean old man, with a receding hairline of dark hair flecked with white.

'Minister. Fleamont Potter, it's an honor.' He said, grasping the man's hand briefly as he got up from his chair behind the desk. The Minister nodded twice, cracking a short smile that didn't reach his eyes.

'This way, son. Can't have this talk without a bit of wine in me.' The man says moving towards the sofa and signalling him to follow.

He was going to have a _drink_ with the _Minister of Magic_. As thrilling as it sounded, he didn't think he could tell anyone the tale – this being a top secret meeting and all.

He was handed a glass which he sipped on without thinking at first – the finest elfish wine – and he felt like a goat being prepared for sacrifice.

Still, gulping down some liquid courage, he plastered a small polite smile on his face. The Minister's face, however, retained the same sober expression. The man watched him silently until he had finished his first glass, then straightened carefully.

'Son, did your father tell you what this is about?'

'Yes, sir.' He replied as calmly as he could. He registered a moment of shock on the Minister's face, before it was replaced with exasperation.

'The reckless courage of youth I suppose.' He muttered, and Monty found himself grinning slightly at having impressed the Minister with his supposed courage.

'Alright then boy. I'm going to hook you up with their head scientist – they're going to debrief you about the whole Project. Now what all did your father tell you?'

'Well, he said that the muggles have a secret project running and they need a wizard to see if they can help them. Forgive me for asking Sir - but how exactly do I fit the bill?' He said, hoping to Merlin he was allowed to ask that and the Minister wouldn't take offence or anything.

His father had been a member of the Wizengamot, even though it had been a hard time for the Potters everywhere when he had voiced his opinion for helping the Muggles in the World War l. He suspected this was one of the reasons that the Minister had turned to his father for help – he was all for this policy of helping the muggles.

It wasn't like he was against it – he just didn't know exactly why they had to choose _him_.

'Well son, all we really need is an experienced wizard like yourself – you're quite the dab hand at potions I've heard. My wife blesses you everyday for that new potion – Sleakzy-sleek one, the one for the hair?'

Monty nodded in confirmation, face growing a little hot – it was Sleakzeazy Hair Potion, to straighten the curliest of hair. He had mostly developed it on Euphemia's insistence – she had a head of tangles that one. But once he had decided to market it, the product had been a hit. It had earned him somewhat of a name as an inventor, though that was hardly what he had actually wanted.

'So yeah, you're a perfect pick boy. You're just out of Hogwarts so you can probably mix up with the young muggles well. You're from a respected family – a member of the Wizengamot so we know you won't betray the country or nothing. And I've heard you're a skilled duellist too.'

Monty blushed slightly at that – surprised. That was something about his talents that hadn't made it out of Hogwarts. The Minister seemed to notice and chuckled lightly, nodding towards his desk, 'I was going over your school report. It's good, it's good that you have that by your side.'

'I – I thought you said it was an experiment, Sir? Wouldn't that be confined strictly to the laboratory?' He wasn't that naive of course – he knew that once he was out there helping the muggles, he was exposed. There would be nothing they could do about it and he'd have to hold his own. He only wanted to hear the man say it. Confirmation.

'Look son. It's war.' The man began gravely, his voice hushing down to a deeper and somewhat resigned tone, 'We all have to make sacrifices. Churchill – the muggle Prime Minister – he called a special meeting last month to ask this favour. The man is right. England is out country and we have to protect our own. The sooner this ends, the better it is for every damn soul.'

The Minister got a faraway look on his face as he turned and stared to the other end of the room – towards his desk, chair and windows. He looked to be in deep thought.

'Winston said they have these Secret Service Departments – MI13 deals with Undocumented Intelligence and Special Operations. The Allies – they have a science division called SSR – Strategic Scientific Reserve. We're going to send you there, saying you're a scientist from MI13 and you're assigned to Project Rebirth. Their head scientist will be debriefed about Magic – we can make an exception to the Statue in these times. Anyway – we need you to be there mostly for the prop.'

At that he look back at him, staring at him meaningfully – 'It's up to you what you do there, how many friends you make, make yourself useful or not. If they suspect anything, you're a goner, boy. So keep your game up.'

Monty could only nod dumbly – so he was absolutely right. He would have practically no back up. He was being throwing to the wolves. But on the other hand, a small part of him – a very small part – was also glad to be going. At least he would have something to do – finally get to make a difference in the lives of people. This Project Rebirth – he hoped it was something big. He already had the basics of muggle electricity down – _thanks to Euphemia's obsession_ – now he would only have to figure out how to combine it best with magic.

The gears in his head were already running – somewhere at the back of his mind he had registered that there might be a chance of him not coming back, but he couldn't bring himself to care right then. He was rather thrilled with this new idea.

'Can I tell someone about this Mission, Sir?' He asked suddenly, wondering what he would tell Euphemia. She would bear with him if she knew the truth – he knew what kind of woman she was. She would even half insist on going along. But if he couldn't tell her the truth – no no, he couldn't lie to her. He had to tell her.

'Not a soul, son.' The Minister said warningly, finishing off his third glass in a quick go. He got up with preamble, considering the meeting to be over and began to walk towards his desk. Monty got up and followed him, ready to take his leave.

'So it's a proper yes then?' The Minister asked one last time, standing behind his desk – gazing at him steadily with the question, a brown packet in hand.

Monty took a deep breath and gave one small, final nod.

'Alright. Here are all the essentials. Now you can fly a civilian plane or a broomstick – it's upto you. All your muggle documents are in here. You'll report to Dr. Abraham Erskine on the 15th. That's three days for you to get ready.'

He was handed the packet – which was surprisingly heavy. He glanced up at the Minister, who was watching him with a somewhat proud and hesitant look. Grabbing his hand firmly, the old man shook it, looking at him with finality.

'For all it's worth, I'm proud of you for agreeing to this, Mr. Potter. Very Good Luck to you.'


End file.
